Facing Fate
by HimeFlye
Summary: Nightwing and Robin get invited to a sick game of Russian Roulette with Two-Face. Tim never thought he could really lose his new family. . . Until now.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's note: **_I want to apologize in advance for any spelling and grammar errors. I read through it once or twice to catch what I could, but I just don't have the heart to do it again. I wrote this one evening when I was feeling sick and overly dramatic. It was my way of dealing with some of the dark and gritty things going on in the world. I was unaware at the time that come summer, my husband and I will become responsible for a life aside from our own two. Knowing this now, I just don't have the heart to read something dramatic over and over again. That said, I still like the writing and I'm rather pleased with how this piece turned out. As always, comments __and_ _critiques are welcome._

* * *

**Facing Fate**

Two-Face put a single bullet into the old handgun and spun the cylinder to a random position.

Once chance out of six.

"Let's see. Heads for the original and tails for his replacement uh?" The coin glittered through the air, flipping faster than an acrobat's summersault before landing in the former cop's palm.

"heads." He announced casually, as if the answer really didn't matter to him. He then turned, pointing the barrel of the gun against the side of Dick Grayson's head.

Tim's world slowed down as he uttered a strained cry and struggled, trying to pull free of the heavy rope and handcuffs wrapped around his wrists and hands, several more latched agaist his feet. He yanked and pulled and tried not to cry. Tears were useless. They felt awful and made it hard to see what was really happening. But that was just it. . . He could see what would happen. A gun, a bullet. . .straight to his brother's head.

Click.

No shot fired though the trigger had been smoothly pulled.

Two-Face lowered the weapon "Uh." He spun the cylinder for round two and again, the coin flipped through the air like a circlet of gold.

Tails.

"Stop it Two-Face." Nightwing demanded as Tim shut his eyes tightly, feeling his insides lurch to his throat.

"He's never done anything to you."

How could Dick be so calm?

Tim had been trying to catch and mimic that calmness ever since he started training, that ease of handling life or death situations. But no matter what he did, he could never keep his heart from pounding. This mission, One of his first few to really prove himself? How could it go so wrong?

"If you have to shoot someone." Dick was saying calmly "If you think that will help, then shoot me. I'm the one you hate."

"Funny. All these years and I thought _Robin_ was responsible. Not Nightwing." Two-face commented, for no other reason than perhaps to make Dick feel guilty if this one in six chance succeeded.

Click.

Safe.

Embarrassed by his fear, terrified for his life and that of his partners, Tim let out a soft sob. Trying to jerk his wrist forward again, metal biting to flesh.

The coin flipped again.

The cylinder spun.

Heads.

Empty chamber.

Heads again

Empty.

For the first time in his young life Tim thought maybe he could start believing in God again. _Please. . ._ Tim thought, body trembling _Please be tails. . ._

The Joker had threatened him once. He told him that while he wouldn't kill Batman, Robin was all his for the taking. He said it would hurt worse that way. . . And now Tim knew why. The thought of anyone else dying. . . Dick, Bruce, Barbara. . . Any of his friends. . ,His _family_. Loosing them ". . . Just please. . . Stop." He didn't even realize he'd said it out loud.

"Tails." Two face announced.

Tim felt cold metal.

But once again, he was met with an empty click.

In so many ways it was worse than being shot.

It meant he lived yes but it meant next time he might not. . . It meant next time, Dick might not.

"Heads."

A deep, cold dread settled over Tim as he locked eyes, Robin's with Nightwing's. Dick didn't blink, didn't gulp or tear up, though his face was pale, and there was still blood from where he'd gotten knocked out earlier that evening. He just looked calm, as if reminding Tim to 'Stay whelmned' He'd think of something. They'd get out of this.

Somehow.

_Ka-Ching!_

A bat shaped piece of metal flew mere inches from Dick's nose, hitting Two-Face in the hand and causing the man to drop the gun with a curse.

In an instant Batman pounced from above. He threw two more Batknives, one landing snug near Tim's right wrist, cutting the ropes, the other near Dick. Glued to the smooth pieces of aerodynamic metal was a thin lock pick. Tim felt the sticky metal slide into his fingers as he began working on the metal of his shackles.

Dick released himself first, if only by seconds. Once he hit the ground he pulled the knife free for his only weapon "There were others!" he yelled.

"Back door." Batman commanded, shoving Two-Face into a nearby wall and kicking the villain in the chest.

Tim slipped to the floor, falling to his knees, his whole body shaking. By the time he became aware that he'd truly escaped, Batman had already tied a nearly unconscious Two-Face, hands and feet. Meanwhile Dick had taken out the gang members who had helped capture them in the first place and the two Gotham warriors freed the civilian prisoners.

All Tim saw was that gun.

Someone might have called for Robin, but he wasn't sure. Slowly, he picked the weapon off the ground. He couldn't see the bullet in any of the cylinders circled in front of the trigger. Slowly he slid the cylinder out just a hair, fingers trembling.

There it was.

The only bullet in the gun, preciously in line with the barrel.  
The chances  
50 -50 chance the gun would point in one or the other direction, 1 in 6 chance each time that the shot could actually fire. Perhaps weight or gravity played a part too but it didn't matter.

If batman hadn't come right then. . . It would have. . .

Nightwing would be dead.

And he could have done nothing but watch, and feel 'grateful' that 'luck' hadn't chosen him instead.

"Tim? _Tim_!"

Batman's growl forced him to 'Robin Mode' The gun slid from his damp fingers and hit the floor with a clatter.

"Call the Commissioner."

"Right," He slowly found where his and Dick's weapons and utility belts had been thrown to the corner, their wrist computers and gloves included. He started up a secure link, the programming already altering his voice to Batman's to make it harder for potential enemies to identify and locate Robins. "Commissioner. . . We have Two-Face. He's ready for pick up."

He gave the police the address, than cut the com link. He took one last look at the gun on the floor."

"Move out." Batman commanded.

And soon, all three victors had vanished into the night. But Tim didn't feel like he'd beat anyone. He felt like a hunted animal instead. 

* * *

to be continued...


	2. Chapter 2

**A few nights later.**

Tim peeked into the bedroom, walking quietly by setting his heals down first for steadiness, then moving the rest of his foot forward to follow.

Dick's bedroom was just another of the many large rooms in the mansion but had the personal touch of someone who was both orderly and a bit of a spaz at the same time. The dirty clothes were in one pile, the half dirty ones in another. The walls had posters from the latest action movies, a poster of the justice league all autographed by its members, (Except, ironically, for Batman). Several bits of old circus memorabilia was scattered among everything else and in a way, this room described who Dick Grayson was better than he himself could. While it was true that this group. . .This family, was a family of masks and secrets; in his own mind, Tim had always thought Dick was the most honest out of all of them.

Tim slunk into the room, walking to the chair in the corner and sitting on the cushion, pulling his legs up under his arms and watching the shadows shift across the floor.

Dick moved a little, sitting up with a confused and wary expression on his face. "Tim?"

"Sorry." Tim whispered back, blushing from the base of his neck to his crew-cut hair line.

"Again?" Dick asked.

Did he sound irritated? Tim didn't want him irritated. "Sorry."

Dick sat up fully in bed, flipping on the lamp on his side table.

Tim clenched his eyes shut, then slowly let himself adjust to the light in the room.

Dick was frowning at him, "You know maybe I should just get a futon in here," He said. "Then maybe we could _both_ get some sleep."

"I'm sorry." Tim said for the third time.

"Well don't just sit there. Come on, just stay on your side of the bed."

Tim's feet hit the floor and soon he had lay claim to half of the large bed. Dick threw him an extra pillow from the floor, then shoved a quilt over to his side because, as they'd learned the previous night, Tim was a bit of a blanket hog.

"Turn off the light and go to sleep." Dick commanded, scooting to the far edge of his side of the bed, his back towards Tim.

Tim obeyed, flipping off the lamp, and letting the shadows fall back upon them like ghosts

"Doesn't it bother you?" he asked, voice barely above a whisper.

"That you've slept with me the last two nights and won't tell me why?" Dick grumbled.

"That they're always after us." Tim corrected, staring at nothing, but grateful Dick was talking so the silence didn't seem so loud. Sometimes he still heard it; _'Click' 'click' 'click',_ the sound of fate laughing and threatening him in a game of chance. "Two-Face, The Joker, that one time with Penguin . . . Jason. . ."

Dick paused for a moment, then rolled over, leaning up on one arm. "Tim it's part of the job."

"I know."

"Well apparently you don't. Stop worrying. Plans sometime go south. We deal with it. Nothing's going to happen to us."

". . . Is that what Jason thought?"

Dick let out a breath ". . . I miss him too, but the truth of the matter is, Jason wasn't smart. Batman gave an order, Jason disobeyed it and went looking for trouble. He found it. What happened isn't fair and it's certainly not right. But it _is _what happened."

"We all go looking for trouble." Tim said quietly "All the time. . . 'It's part of the job'."

"Ya but we train for it," Dick said, "Either way, this isn't something we should be discussing at two in the morning. Try and get some sleep okay?" his voice became a little more insistent "It will go away, I promise. The nightmares. . . They'll get better."

Tim froze under the covers. How had he known?

"Go to sleep." Dick said again, laying down and rolling over once more.

* * *

To be continued. . .


	3. Chapter 3

**The next morning.**

"Where is everyone?" Tim asked.

It was Sunday morning. He'd slept in which was weird. Dick had also managed to slip out of the room without waking him up, which was just plain embarrassing. He'd been trained better than that!

Dick grabbed a can of soda from the fridge "Bruce went to work and Alfred went to visit a friend. Come on."

"Uh?"

"I said come on. Grab some toast or something and get moving."

Tim grabbed a slice of bread from the box, then quickly followed Dick to the garage "Are we doing some trapeze training?" he asked hopefully.

"Do we keep the Traps in the garage?"

"No."

"Then I guess not."

Dick paused for a moment, seeming to consider the selection of cycles available to the boys, before choosing a dark black Ariel Cyclone – the custom one with silver etching on the sides. He slid the can of soda, and a brown paper sack he carried, into the leather bag on the side of the bike. "Climb on."

Frowning in confusion, and feeling both nervous and excited, Tim climbed on behind him, and pulled his helmet into place.

.

.

.

Soon the two were out cruising down the road in early morning traffic, which wasn't bad, though still reasonably busy.

"Where are we going?" Tim asked, glancing back as they crossed the bridge and left Gotham far behind them.

"On a field trip," Dick replied simply.

"Can't we just Zeta-tube there?"

"What? You have something against my driving?" Dick challenged.

"Well. . . No. . ."

"Then chill Tim. You're normally chill-er than this."

_Well ya, that's before you almost died_, Tim though in dismay but said nothing.

.

.

.

After a long drive, and after Tim watched the buildings around them vanish into rocky hills, Dick finally pulled his cycle to a stop on a rocky bluff, pulling the leather bag from its hooks and flinging it over his shoulder. He walked through the dry, weedy grass; Tim easily catching up and holding pace, "You aren't going to bury me out here or something are you?"

"Nope."

The ground was littered with bits of broken metal and glass. Tim saw several empty bullet casings which made him pause with uncertainty.

"Hold this." Dick said, handing him the leather bag. Tim obeyed almost automatically as Dick took out the soda can, taking the bag back and setting it aside. He tapped the top of the aluminum then opened it and took a sip, brushing off a rock and sitting on it. He drank about half the soda before handing the rest to Tim.

By now, the third Robin was terribly thirsty from the ride and willingly took it without complaining about germs. He politely left a little bit inside for Dick to finish, which the older boy did before standing."feel re-chilled now?"

"What are you trying to do?" Tim asked. He sensed one of Nightwing's classic games or jokes coming on. Seriously, sometimes he wondered if this guy (who for all intents and purposes was more of a brother than teammate.) Wasn't better suited for some crazy Joker sidekick, not Batman's.

Dick smirked then walked away several yards until he set the can on a rock and walked back. He pulled the brown paper sack from the leather bag, then removed its contents.

Tim gasped and jumped to his feet, backing away.

Dick was holding Two-Face's gun.

"What the/?!"

"Now don't go swearing on me," Dick said, pointing the gun a safe direction and opening the cylinder. "It doesn't suit you."

"_Why_ do you have it?!" Tim felt betrayed somehow.

"I picked it up on our way out. Two-Face is a former cop, he has guns. It's not like the police needed it for evidence."

"You _know_ how we feel about guns!"

"Tim." Dick said, patiently but also somewhat forced, "This gun is no different than your knives or your staff. No different thanthe countless other tools you, I, _and_ Batman use every day." He paused briefly ". . . And yet, you're terrified of it. This one in particular; not because of the shot it fired, but because of the shot it could have fired. So. . ." He turned the cylinder a few notches then slid it into place; the single bullet in the chamber. "Let's fire it." He held the gun towards Tim, who backed away.

Dick just took a step forward to account for the distance "Tim. You weren't the only one terrified. I was too," he said gently, voice even. "I was tied up there, _praying_ that something would happen, that something would make it stop. And when nothing came and it just kept going. . . I just prayed it would be me and not you."

"Me too." Tim whispered quietly, then looked away. "Except for the praying part. There's no way there's a God up there who could let all the thing I've seen happen."

"You can believe that if you like," Dick replied with a grim frown. "But what I can't let you believe is that you're broken somehow because of what happened. You're not the only one who's 'seen' things and you're not the only one who still has nightmares because of it. I think part of it is because so many of the things that have happened to us, so many things we try to do, are always unfinished. There's never a _real_ end. The crime never stops, the bad guys always come back. . . we never get to properly say goodbye. . ."  
Tim shut his eyes, nodding, and thinking about his parents, and after that, Jason. The other brother; or at least, he could have been.

"So, let's finish this one okay?" Dick offered. "Let's fire this one bullet and never have to worry about which one of us it's going to kill again. Sound good?"

Tim found himself nodding again. He held out a hand and Dick set the gun in his palm then stood behind him. Both their hands clasped around the butt of the weapon, their fingers overlapping each other on the trigger.

"One," Tim started.

"Two. . ." Dick breathed out once and Tim did the same.

"Three."

With a loud crack, the gun went off, the bullet landing somewhere off to the side of the hill to the left of their target in a puff of dust and spray of gravel.

The soda can sat there, glinting in sunlight.

Tim laughed, half tearfully. "We're really bad shots."

"Ya well. . . We don't have to tell anyone that," Dick said, rustling Tim's hair then taking the empty gun back. "Time to head back home now?"

Tim nodded. Dick was right. It felt like it was over. Finally over. "Ya. . . Definitely."

Dick nodded, turning to pick up the now empty bag.

There was a heavy '_Chink!'_ sound as Tim threw a small bat shaped knife into the can, knocking it over in a crumple.

Dick sighed in annoyance "Go get that. You can't just leave it here."

By the time Tim caught up with Dick again, knife in hand, the older teen was nearly to their motorcycle. "You know. . .What you said about goodbyes. . ." Tim started, slowing as he fell into pace with him "I think you're right. I think that would be the hardest part. . . Not getting to say goodbye." He bit his lip.

"Well," Dick said, latching the bag back to the bike. "Not that either of us are planning on getting killed anytime soon, but for future use: Timothy Drake Wayne, AKA Robin: You've been a great friend, a spectacular little brother, and annoying as crap sometimes; but, if either of us should go, I'd miss you. So goodbye and I love you."

Tim stood very still.

"Don't look at me like that, I'm allowed to love my little brother." Dick complained, climbing onto his bike and scooting forward to leave Tim room to sit. "Seriously! stop looking at me like that!"

It wasn't that, it was just. . The way he'd said that whole thing. Like he'd been thinking on it. . . Like he really meant it.

". .. I love you too." Tim said.

"Yep. I know. That's what a family is for, even a crazy – small, vampiric, mammal based – crime fighting one."

Tim grinned "We're a Bat-family?"

". . .Hu not bad. I like it."

Tim climbed onto the motorcycle, putting on his helmet. _We're a Bat-family_ he thought, smiling again at his rather 'Dick Grayson' like play on words.

He felt now, like he'd left something deep and dark behind him. And Dick's goodbye, though it should have terrified him, actually made him feel better. Maybe because now. . . If it should happen. . . He'd know. Tim paused, realizing he hadn't given Nightwing the same comfort, the same. . . Freedom. He took a breath. ". . . Goodbye Dick Grayson."

Dick laughed. But somehow, Tim knew that he'd needed to hear it too.

And without another word about what the future might hold, the two of them sped along the road back towards home.

* * *

The End.


End file.
